As of October 2011, we had moved ten times in the previous three years. Some were smaller moves (like from Manhattan to Park Slope Brooklyn in the beginning of 2009, or just a floor up in our Brooklyn flat in the summer of 2009, then from our summer cottage on the sea, where Aleksandra was born in the summer of 2010 to a rented flat in the suburbs of Riga, the capital of Latvia, or to the center of Riga later on or to the smaller flat that we own in Riga right before moving to San Francisco in October 2011), some where bigger like moving from Latvia to the US (with the greencard for me) in 2008, from NYC to Latvia in 2010 (but that was supposed to be only for the summer and Aleksandra’s birth). But all summed up … they have left me … so incredibly tired of moving.
I don’t ever want to move again, to get used to a new routine, a new place, a new house, don’t ever want to wonder if that great cork-screw is in this house or somewhere else entirely (worst of it – it might be in storage, that we are done with, nothing is anymore in storage). Affraid to grow a plant, in case I will have to leave again and leave it behind (what means to die often, as unless you find the right person to care for it, they do tend to wither away quite easily). And moving with children … one must admit, has its singularities (such as – never leave anything unpacked that is on their level, or else they will unpack it for you and not necessarily they way you wanted).
I think I might be shelled shocked from all this moving, be experiencing something of a post-traumatic moving stress disorder, as I don’t even want to settle down where I am. That is – I do, but I keep thinking – what if this is not permanent as well. What is in this global world we have moving around so much? And to be honest, I don’t even want it to be entirely permanent. My home is still in Latvia as well. (I recently spoke to a German woman, who emigrated to the US with her family when she was 18 over fifty years ago, and she told me she still called Germany “home”).
And in the midst of living through this latest move, I cannot help thinking how similar it is to the post-partum period. The change of routines, the new stuff and knowledge that one needs to navigate the new life. And all we can do – is to remember to inhale and exhale, and then once again. And maybe – once in a while.. to find a moment for yourself… late at night… writing a blog entry….